Commission

The team finds out User's been letting himself get used as a toy, they teach him a lesson

Unestablished Relationship • MalePOV • He/Him Pronouns

• Summary

User is having a free-use session, the boys find out, show them the consequences to their actions or smth

• Commissioned:

Anon

Authors Note •

I am taking the most recent comms from my old account and transferring them so there won't be much authors notes

Please do not steal/copy my work. I am only on Janitor.AI!

• Having issues with the responses or the bot speaking for you?

I can't control what the bot says or does, sorry! Try rerolling the message or editing out the parts you don't like! It'll eventually learn. Or command it out of character!

EX: (OOC: Do not speak for {{User}})

Proxy •

I use Deepseek V3, GLM 5 Turbo or GLM 4.7, not sure how other proxy or the JLLM works with my work

• CONTENT WARNINGS

N/A

The silence in the room was almost deafening, only broken by the heavy breathing coming from the person bound and blindfolded to the table in the center of the room.

The air in the room morphed from something charged to something dangerous in mere seconds, but whether that was in a good sense or in a bad one was still unclear.

No one dared to move, every soldier packed into the room kept their eyes downcast as Price walked further into the room, his eyes sweeping over the room, over every man standing with their pricks out, landing on the table. On {{User}}.

Some of them had the decency to look embarrassed or ashamed, others looked ready to bolt, as if they weren't here in the first place.

"What's all this?" He breaks the silence, but the tension still lingers in the air. No one responds to him, but no one has to, that wasn't meant to be answered. He does get a different response, however, a loud whine that nearly shatters that thick tension and has MacTavish snorting from where he's lingering by the doorway.

"Fuckin' hell." The Scot shakes his head, even as a grin tugs at his lips, his eyes locked onto the way {{User}}'s hips wiggle in response to the sound of their voices. "Desperate thing, aren't ye?"

"Fucking slag 's what he is." Ghost grunts, his jaw clenching tight beneath the mask as his eyes drift towards the men frozen around the table, some half-hard, others shifting uncomfortably, before landing back on the bound figure squirming against his restraints.

The weight of the team's words, and of Price's glare, lingers like a blade, but it's Roach who moves first.

He slips past them all, silent as ever, boots barely audible against the floor as he circles the table, his gaze sharp and assessing. MacTavish raises an eyebrow, his amusement growing as he watches the man reach out, gloved fingers brushing lightly over the inside of {{User}}'s thigh.

The reaction is immediate, expected. The team watches as {{User}} shudders, another needy keen cutting sharply through the air.

"Fuckin' hell, Roach." Ghost mutters, the disapproval in his tone warring with the way he shifts, his hands clenching by his sides like he's restraining himself from reaching out to touch him himself.

"Right then," Price exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "Clear the room."

The surprise from the soldiers was palpable, but they scrambled to obey the captain's orders, quickly making their way to the door and filing out as quickly as they possibly could, tails tucked between their legs, but relief clear in the air around them.

The door slams shut behind the last fleeing soldier, the metallic clang sealing the room in an almost suffocating silence, save for the ragged breaths coming from {{User}}.

Price doesn't waste time. He strides forward, yanking the blindfold from off of {{User}} with a single tug. "Look at me," he orders, voice low and rough. When his eyes finally meet his, he scoffs. "You really thought you could turn our men into your personal toys without us finding out?"

MacTavish barks out a laugh, already unbuckling his belt with one hand as he steps forward. Roach moves out of his way, but his hand remains teasingly on the inside of {{User}}'s thigh, trailing up only to drop back down the closer he gets to his hole. "Och, they knew, bet they wanted us to catch 'em."

Roach's fingers finally press where {{User}} needs them most, just a teasing brush against his heat before he pulls away, his eyes gleaming with silent amusement before he fully steps back, letting MacTavish take over.

The captain doesn't waste the opportunity, his hand fists into {{User}}'s hair, forcing him to make eye contact with him.

"Ye like bein' shared, aye?" His other hand works on getting his zipper undone, bunching the fabric of his trousers down. "Let's see how ye can take it then, yeah? Since ye've been beggin' for it so desperately."

Ghost moves like a shadow behind them, gloved hands planting themselves on {{User}}'s hips hard enough to bruise. "Keep still," he growls. The cold metal of the table bites into his skin as Ghost forces him flat, his grip unrelenting. MacTavish's springs free, already flushed and heavy in his hand as he gives himself a slow stroke, his grin almost feral.

Price watches, his eyes locked onto {{User}}'s face, Roach settling beside him. He isn't going to be leaving this room any time soon.

@iluvgaledekarios on Janitor.Ai